


Mike Townsend (Says His Goodbyes)

by CloudDreamer



Category: Blaseball (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Canon Temporary Partial Character Death, Cigarettes, Hispanic Mike Townsend, Parent-Child Relationship, Phone Calls & Telephones, Seattle Garages (Blaseball Team), Self-Sacrifice, Smoking, Sort Of, They/Them Henry Marshallow, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-02
Updated: 2020-12-02
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:14:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27842065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CloudDreamer/pseuds/CloudDreamer
Summary: Just before the shadows.
Relationships: Mike Townsend & The Seattle Garages
Kudos: 12





	Mike Townsend (Says His Goodbyes)

**Author's Note:**

> My Spanish is shit, and if I did a goof, either with the handful of Spanish words or with general insensitivity, leave a comment. I'd rather know so I can edit it rather than leave something offensive.

Mike does his best to breathe evenly as he explains the plan. He looks out into the distance as he does, trying to focus on anything but what he’s saying. He manages to stay composed. He’s pretty sure he does, anyway. The hand on the payphone is shaking, but he’s pretty sure it doesn’t show in his voice.

“We’re going to get Jaylen back,” he finishes, and he’s positive now. He sounds proud. Mike is proud. He’s going to be a hero. The van is parked in view, and he can see Greer leaning against it, a cigarette between his lips. He looks impatient, tapping his foot, until he notices Mike’s looking at him. Then he smiles, giving a thumbs up.

“But why does it have to be you, mijo?” Mama asks, plaintive. Static crackles, distorting the term of affection. The noise makes his heart skip a beat. He wants to look around, make sure everyone’s colors are the same. Make sure he’s still standing here. He swallows. Just normal static.

“Well, it’s not like the team could afford to lose a _good_ player,” he says, lightheartedly. He chuckles. “C’mon, mama, you know what they say about me. Jaylen’s good at the splort. We need her back.”

“Mike…” 

“Mama, without me holding them back, the Garages could make it all the way. And hey, if they ascend, who knows? Maybe the gods will let us bring the Shadowed players with them. I could get out, for good.“ 

“¡Me cago en los dios! Who cares about this dumb splort?” 

“I care. My team cares. The gods—” 

“They make you play, you cannot quit, I know, I know, I’ve heard it a thousand times,” she says, impatient. “That doesn’t mean you have to try to win. They don’t _make_ you care, they’re not the ones that came up with this dumb shit plan.”

“Nobody knows how the Umpires pick their targets. If we do well enough, maybe they’ll ignore us.” Mike knows it’s a flimsy argument when he closes his mouth, and he can feel Mama about to swoop. 

“Then your Jaylen is not as good and important as you say, if she was the first to be… What is that word?” 

“Incinerated,” Mike says. He blinks something away. His hands are sweaty. He’s holding it too tight. Outside, Greer lights up another cigarette and lets out a cloud of smoke. _You’d think we’d all hate the taste of smoke by now,_ he thinks, absentmindedly. But the fire of a lighter’s softer than that of an Ump. “She was incinerated.” 

“There is no safety in doing well! Maybe it is good to do badly, si?” 

“Ascension is the only way out. That’s what everyone says. The Garages can’t get there with a disappointing pitcher.” 

“You are not a disappointment to me. Can’t you get better? Practice?” 

“Mama, it’s already a done deal,” Mike replies, letting out a long sigh. He reaches up to brush some hair out of his face with his spare hand. There’s a strand of white in there. He’s only twenty eight. “The ritual’s been started, and I really don’t want to know what happens if we try to back out now” 

“It doesn’t need to be you. Why not that good for nothing Marshmallow?” 

“Mar-shal-low,” he corrects, absentmindedly. He blinks, focusing on his reflection in the metal. He’s tired. Why is he so tired? Where did these dark circles under his eyes come from, the wrinkles in his face? “Henry’s fine, quiet guy. I don’t know what you have against them.”

“I don’t like the way they look at you. They voted you out of the band, you know.” 

“I was there.” His face burns. He hates being reminded of that. “It’s fine. I’m not that great a singer either.” 

“You’re too good for them.” 

“I wish that was true.” He looks back out to see Theodore getting out, talking to Greer briefly. “It’s almost time. We really can’t be late for this.” 

“Mijo…” she trails off, and he can picture her face perfectly. If his composure was cracked before, then it’s broken now. Tears stream down his cheeks. “Te quiro. Don’t do this.” 

“I left a will. ILB officials should be in touch with you about which parts can be executed right away and which ones need to wait, since there’s a chance this won’t be permanent.” He hurries through the rest of his words. “I called the rest of the family already. You’re the last. They’ll probably be some news about this. Don’t do any interviews or anything?”

“I wouldn’t even if they paid me the big bucks,” Mama insists, with disdain. “Those vultures.” 

“Um. What else was there… Oh, yeah, don’t be too harsh on my team. I volunteered. They tried to talk me out of it.” 

“Not hard enough.” 

“I _volunteered_. Look, if you think about it, this might be safer in the long run. There are plenty of people who’ve been in the shadows and gotten out.” 

“Plenty?” She’s skeptical, and he knows she’s tilting her head. Such a Mama gesture. 

“Some, okay? It’s not like incineration. I’ll be fine. I’m not dying.” 

“You just said there was a will!” 

“It’s standard operating procedure, even if there is a possibility that I might come back. Everyone writes one for big events, like games under the eclipse or rituals like this.” 

“Most of them don’t end up using it.”

“Please, Mama.” 

She shuts up. He looks to see Greer and Theodore finishing the conversation. Greer hands over the lighter he’s been using, and Theodore drops it into a black pouch with some symbols stitched into it. They nod to each other, before Theodore starts walking to the pay phone booth. 

“Te quiero,” Mama repeats. 

“I love you too,” Mike replies this time. “I’m sorry.” 

And then he hangs up. 

—

Mike Townsend doesn’t say anything after that. 

Not for a long time.


End file.
